The Last Thank You
by District11-Olive
Summary: An entry for the Caesar's Palace monthly one shot competition. The prompt was "When one gives thanks in the most unusual matter" for November 2012.


**A/N: Here is a one shot for the Caesar's Palace monthly one shot competition. The prompt was "When one gives thanks in the most unusual matter" for November 2012. Enjoy!  
**

She was my sister's very best friend, eighteen years old and one year shy of being free from the possibility of the Hunger Games forever. She had just one last year to get through, just one last year.

It had only been my first Reaping. I had walked to the Square with one hand tightly grasped by my older sister and one by Ainslyn, her best friend. I giggled as they swung me between them, my feet leaving the ground for just brief moments as I pushed off with my hand-me-down shoes. Their faces were softened by smiles as they watched me dance along the street, my hair floating around me as I twirled and laughed. It seemed like such a perfect day, no fear was evident in the streets of my district. Everyone was already in the Square. I hadn't needed to fear for the Reaping, my name was only entered once, there were thousands of children in my district. One of them would be chosen and life would go on as it had before.

The fear only appeared on the older girl's faces as the crowded Square came into view, the side streets packed with adult bodies that only had to fear for their children. Ainslyn propelled us through the mass of people and found the check-in line which was nearly abandoned. The needle stung as it pricked my finger but my sister brought it up to her lips and kissed it gently, somehow causing the pain to dissipate into the nearby air.

I found a place among the other girls my age and my sister, with Ainslyn following closely behind, manoeuvred her way into the section nearest to the stage that was reserved for the oldest eligible children. The mayor had come to the microphone by this time and began his speech to the district that was read aloud from a yellowed piece of paper. His words came and left with monotonous excitement and the candy colored Escort took her place onstage to draw the tributes for this year.

Her white glove hand laced the spotless glass bowl that contained too many paper slips for me to count in my lifetime. Her cloth covered fingertips delicately swiped a single piece from the never ending pile, handling it as carefully as the wings of a wounded dove. She smiled and unfolded the piece so carefully, her lips forming the unfamiliar name of the newly deemed tribute.

Except this name was not unfamiliar. This name was very old to me, I had heard it enough times to recognize it as soon as it had left the painted lips of the Escort. It was my name, my name that had only been in there once.

I fell to my knees and tears crashed onto the cold pavement. Everyone moved away from me, segregating me in the middle of a hopeless, enclosing circle. Sobs had rocked my body and I was left unable to move, tears blinding my vision and entire body convulsing rhythmically.

Two sets of arms had pulled me up off the ground, shoved me forward and out of the ring of girls my age. Every step had pained me and still I was unable to see in front of me because of the salty tears. Silence rose upon the district and the entire world seemed to stop for a moment. I wiped away the tears to see Ainslyn stepping out of the mass of girls, her hand held high and a brave expression plastered onto her face.

They took her; I was dropped to the ground like a bag of trash, ushered back into my section as I cried out over and over again for them not to listen to her. I didn't want her to go because of me. No matter how much I had wanted to stay behind, I hadn't wanted her to go in my place.

That night we drew the shutters closed. My sobs still echoing through the silent home, my sister's arms wrapped heavily around me. Quiet tears coating her cheeks and her mouth constantly opening as if she had thought of something to say. But there were no words that could ease the pain of that day.

Now I stand in front of the wooden crate that was partially covered with a thin piece of linen to cover the name stamped harshly on the exterior. Everyone else had left the visitation, but I could not tear my eyes away from the box that contained what remained of her. Rain begins to drip down from the greying sky, droplets catching in my eyelashes as I try to blink away the clouding water. My fingers graze the thin, yellow petals of the daffodil that I had picked from the fields where she would sit with my sister and I for hours. Nothing better to do than to reminisce in old memories and create new ones, with only the yellow flowers to listen in on our shared secrets.

I kiss the petals softly and lay the flower down on the lid of her sealed coffin. The wind blows softly and picks up the flower, twirling it through the air with the clear, glistening raindrops. Taking with it the last thank you that I will ever be able to give to the girl that saved my life.


End file.
